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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22734004">cool blue reason</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Featuring Beheaded Cousins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:34:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22734004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne's just trying to graduate, and Catherine Parr, queen of not answering her texts, is not making this class any easier to pass.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. catalyst</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so it’s exam season and i was thinking about izuka!parr the other day, as one does, and also about what i’ve seen of anne’s characterization in some of the fics i’ve read. this series is a love song to the beautiful, frustrating university student experience, and my attempt to hash out interpretations of the characters that i haven’t seen as much as others!</p><p>read on and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A day, Anne could tolerate. Two days were annoying but not unforgivable. Shit happened, Anne knew that better than anyone.</p><p>But a week? No. No way. </p><p>Anne wasn’t a patient person by any means, but even the most saintly student would find that too long a wait for a stupid group project. Couldn’t Anne’s partner have sent her an email or something? A text? That wasn’t too hard, right? </p><p>It shouldn’t have been. Anne had already sent her erstwhile partner nearly a dozen increasingly-desperate messages over the past week, her casual <em>hey how are you</em>’s peetering off to a single defeated <em>did you fucking drop out or something</em>, sent at three in the morning during a haze of post-essay exhaustion. </p><p>No replies. Not even a single lousy reaction. Anne had checked and double-checked her partner’s provided contact information thrice now. She’d tried begging her professor for a reassignment, an extension, leniency, anything - but the heartless old bastard only shrugged and shuffled out of the lecture hall, off to fossilize in his office hours while Anne’s grade and graduation dangled over her neck like a sword on a string.</p><p>Safe to say, Anne wanted to throttle him.</p><p>Almost as much as she wanted her hands around Catherine Parr’s absentee neck. </p>
<hr/><p>“Kitty.” </p><p>“Anne.”</p><p>
  <em>“Kittyyyyy.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aaaaaanne.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Kiiiiiittyyyyyyyyy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aaaaaaaaaaannuuuuuh.” </em>
</p><p>“Yeah?” asked Anna von Cleves, looking up from her phone. Anne chucked a stuffed animal at her. Kitty, who’d latched onto Anna the second they’d been introduced with strength even a barnacle would envy, only gave her a delighted smile. </p><p>“Anne’s bothering me again.” </p><p>“‘Bo, come on, leave the poor girl alone. She’s got three centuries of European history to pick apart.” </p><p>“Technically speaking, all she’s gotta do is analyze the evolution of feudalism across three centuries of European history,” Anne said mulishly. She sighed and let herself slip off Kitty’s horrible dormitory bed, thudding shoulders-first onto the ground beside Anna. A stray piece of notepaper lined with Kitty’s neat, bubbly handwriting drifted down with her. “Me? I’ve got a theology project with a partner who might’ve already gone through the heavenly gates, for all I’ve heard from her!” </p><p>“Wow,” Anna intoned gravely. “She’s really going above and beyond for this class - getting the scoop from the big man himself.” </p><p>“Woman,” corrected Kitty. “God’s a lesbian.” </p><p>“Huh. Explain?” </p><p>Kitty sniffed delicately. “No.” </p><p>Anne prodded Anna’s side and winced when her finger impacted against solid muscle. Damn. It’d be nice to have abs like that someday. “I know you’re just joking, but nothing short of that can save us now. I’ve tried everything. Even brought the old man a coffee after class to try and sweeten him up.”</p><p>“Did it work?” </p><p>“Nah. He took the coffee and mumbled something ‘bout how I’d have to cooperate with difficult people all the time once I graduated, might as well get used to it.” Anne threw her hands up and nearly knocked Anna’s phone clean across the room. “C’mon, I work lunch shifts at Queens’, I don’t need a bad partner in a group project to know <em>that!”</em></p><p>Kitty chewed thoughtfully on the end of her glitter pen. “Maybe he doesn’t want to reassign you because he doesn’t want to show favoritism? Like, if he gave you a new partner because you complained, then he’d have to reassign everyone else who doesn’t like their partners too?” </p><p>Anne scoffed. “Look, there’s equity and fairness and then there’s this. She’s not answering my texts, my emails, I can’t find her on social media… I even tried calling her!” </p><p>Kitty, the only person Anne knew who hated phone calls as much as Anne did — though for very different reasons — winced in sympathy. </p><p>“For all I know, this chick’s gone and dropped the class. Hell, maybe she dropped out!” </p><p>Anna leaned her head against Kitty’s bed and sighed. “What’s her name, ‘Bo? Maybe you missed something—” Anne snorted at that. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re a real social media savant, no one can escape you, not even the locked accounts. You’ve said it before, weirdo. But when it comes to the campus,” Anna placed a hand on her own chest, looking remarkably regal for someone with a hot pink, dolphin plushie in her lap, “I’m the queen of the castle. I can try asking some of my other buddies, see if anyone knows her.” </p><p>“That’s… not a bad idea.” Anne was a full-time student and shift manager down at Queens’, which essentially meant she spent six hours a day as a janitor, waitress, barista, <em>and</em> line-cook because the university’s dining department — and at this point, probably the universe too — had it out for her and her specifically. Anne’s schedule didn’t leave much time for extracurriculars. </p><p>Anna, on the other hand, made time like magic. She played lacrosse for the school, had a seat on the student affairs council, an internship with a nearby veterinary hospital, and still somehow had enough of herself to share with any number of rotating extracurricular clubs around campus. Anne had long since given up keeping track of which ones Anna deigned to show her face in. </p><p>“You happen to know a Catherine Parr?”</p><p>The question was directed at Anna, but it was Kitty who answered. She sat up so quickly that her unbound binder regurgitated notes, glittering paper falling in sheaves to the floor. </p><p>“Your partner’s <em>Cathy Parr?” </em></p><p>“You know her, Kit-Kat?” Anne clutched at Kitty’s sheets and pulled herself upright, so quickly her head spun. All those texts, all those emails, and all that bitching - and her baby cousin had the answers the whole time?</p><p>Kitty nodded eagerly. She was smiling, her lean face lit up with the joy of it. “Cathy’s president of my creative writing club!”</p><p>“The one you’re always talking about?” Anne couldn’t help the doubt in her voice. She’d never gotten the name out of Kitty before — it was always <em>“my president”</em> this, <em>“my president”</em> that, but Anne just couldn’t reconcile the single most stressful part of her semester with the woman Kitty swore hung the moon and shot sunlight out of her ass. </p><p>“Yeah! Cathy’s, um, pretty busy. Like, really busy, all the time, but she always shows up to meetings.”</p><p>“Let me come with,” Anne said, gripping the sheets near Kitty’s hand. “Seriously. Please. I need to talk with her.” </p><p>“Just talk, right?” Kitty reached out and jabbed Anne’s forehead. Anne let her. Kitty was so particular about touch - Anne would let her do just about anything if it meant Kitty would come out of her shell. “You’re not gonna jump her like you did Jonesy last year?” </p><p>“Okay, but Jonesy had it coming.”</p><p>“He really did,” Anna offered. She watched their exchange with her usual cool distance, a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “Though it’s funny that Kit knows Cathy, because I do too. P’s on council with me as the Head of Media and Technology. Saw her at this week’s meeting, even, but she didn’t say much.” </p><p>Anne groaned. “Are you telling me everyone knows this girl but me?” </p><p>“It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it?” Anna nudged her with her foot. Anna was the only person alive to have ever made mismatched socks look cool, and Anne <em>did</em> begrudge her for it. “Imagine how quickly we could have resolved this if you’d just told us her name earlier. But seriously, ‘Bo — you promise not to rush her as soon as you see her or something?” </p><p>“I’m not gonna fly off the handle and attack anyone who inconveniences me, you know. If I did my professor would already be off to an early retirement,” Anne grumbled. She indulged herself a moment of childishness and slumped, sulking. She knew she could be excessive — there’d been plenty of situations where even she had to admit she’d overreacted. Still, sometimes Anne wished her friends just… had her back, unconditionally, without question. Was it too much to ask for them to believe that Anne had reasons for acting the way she did, or at the very least, not assume she’d go for the jugular the second things didn’t go her way? </p><p>It was such a little thing. Just a friendly dig Anna had made a dozen times and would make a dozen times more. Anne even found it funny, sometimes — she just wished it wasn’t <em>all</em> the time. </p><p>But she couldn’t say that.</p><p>Anne swallowed her frustration and made a show of thrusting her hand into the air, pinky extended. “I promise I won’t do anything more than give Miss Cathy Parr a few strong words. Swear on my… uh. Whatever I’ve got that you prefer. My mum? I don’t much like my mum, though.”</p><p>“That’s good enough, far as I’m concerned.” Kitty slid off her bed and began to gather up her notes. Anna reached over Anne to help. Anne, for her part, obligingly nudged a few scattered pages closer. “I’ll text you the meeting time. If you show up five minutes early and help me set up the clubroom, I’ll introduce you to Cathy!”  </p><p>“Oh, my hero!” Anne puckered her lips. Kitty laughed and inched closer, letting Anne smack a grateful kiss against her freckled cheek. “I appreciate it, Kit-Kat. See, this is why you’re my favorite cousin.” </p><p>“It’s not like I’ve got stiff competition,” Kitty giggled, “but thanks anyway.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. encounter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i just want to say that this update happening so quickly is very out of the ordinary! i sat down yesterday, blacked out, and somehow finished the chapter and i don’t expect a repeat performance anytime soon</p><p>read on and enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>According to Kitty, the cultural clubs had a long-standing rivalry with the interest clubs over the use of the social science buildings, so if Anne ever encountered a member of the clogging club alone in a dark alley she could jump them with Kitty’s full blessing. The creative writing club had lost their bid for a vaunted social sciences classroom this year, and so Friday evening found Anne hauling her way up a series of stairways steep enough to send her to the school clinic with a busted skull and unpayable medical bills if she didn’t watch her feet. </p><p>(Damn. What was the point of all that tuition if the university couldn’t even scrape up enough money to keep their elevators running?)</p><p>Kitty skipped ahead of her in platform boots that made Anne privately wish she wasn’t such a bad influence on her cousin’s sense of self-preservation. “Cathy doesn’t usually come in until start time, so you’ll probably have to catch her after the meeting or when she drops by to check on my writing.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Anne panted. Her duffle bag banged against her leg with every step. Anne would be the first to admit it: while her endurance was well-honed after nearly four years in the crucible of Queens’ during lunch rush, her cardio was sorely lacking. Not everyone could be as fit as Anna or run on mischief and sheer good nature like Kitty. </p><p>The clubroom the creative writing club had commandeered was nothing special. Scuffed linoleum tiles polished to a glossy shine, a whiteboard with physics equations Anne had to wrack her brain to remember scrawled across its surface, and a podium with a university-provided desktop attached to it. Club members milled around desks scattered haphazardly across the classroom, and a few called enthusiastic greetings to Kitty when she burst in, Anne trotting dutifully behind.</p><p>It took a total of ten seconds for Anne to feel out of place. Most of the members were warm and smiling, real clean-cut types. Anne — grimy because she hadn’t had time to shower after her work shift, sore from a three-hour class she’d rushed to right after, and swimming in a ripped-up sweater she’d worn all of last week but still hadn’t washed — was decidedly less so.</p><p>(She didn’t know people still wore sweater vests. That is, outside of professors who'd missed the memo about leaving the eighties.)</p><p>Kitty pulled her to an empty desk and fluttered off before Anne could so much as set her duffle down. She slid into the seat beside a solemn-faced girl with the bluest eyes Anne had ever seen, gesticulating so wildly that the girl had to lean back to dodge a hand to the face.</p><p>Anne squinted at Blue Eyes. Could that be Cathy? She didn’t look like a Catherine, though Anne wasn’t exactly unbiased when it came to the name. Besides Kitty, there was Anne’s manager to reckon with too. That woman was a force of nature if she was anything, and Blue Eyes seemed a little too soft for the name, too dull, like a lump of lint pulled from the dryer. </p><p>As if alerted by her thoughts, Kitty caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of the head. Alright, not Cathy then. </p><p>Anne set her duffle down and sighed. Kitty showed no signs of coming back to keep her company — which was good, really. It was great. Kitty shouldn’t have to mind her when she was already doing Anne a huge favor. </p><p>Still, bumming around on her phone while everyone chatted around her wasn’t exactly appealing, so Anne wiped her hands on her sweater and set to straightening out unoccupied desks, wrangling them into rows as neat as she could manage. She’d promised to help set up, and for all her faults Anne hated to break a promise. </p><p>The touch came out of nowhere. </p><p>Anne couldn’t stop herself. She dropped the desk she’d been wrestling and lunged, seizing the hand that’d tapped her shoulder and squeezing hard enough that she felt the bones creak.</p><p>The classroom fell silent. Anne didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know the entire club was watching, but who cared? Her world was a tunnel, and the hand turning pale in her grasp was the only thing at the end of it. The hand was connected to an arm clad in a sky-blue hoodie, which led up to a face Anne knew, as soon as she saw it, had broken hearts before.</p><p>Wait. Shit, wait.</p><p>Anne loosed her grip and took a step back, heart hammering. The woman she’d accosted flexed her hand almost absentmindedly. </p><p>“Strong grip,” she offered, lips twitching in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. They were a clear, warm brown, at odds with the deep eyebags that made the woman look older than she probably was. One of her eyebrows was slit by a thin scar that disappeared behind a shock of dark curls; the only flaw marring an otherwise perfect face. </p><p>“Shit. Sorry, you just snuck up on me…” </p><p>“It was my fault, I should have said something,” the woman said, never losing her smile. Something about it made the hair on the back of Anne’s neck stand on end. Polite but aloof, welcoming but distant; it was a smile that was purely ornamental, serving a purpose with little substance. Anne thought of Anna, and the realization hit a split second before the woman said, “I’m Cathy Parr, the club president. You’re new.” </p><p>Two instincts warred inside Anne. She’d already jumped the girl, even before she realized who she was accosting, but now that Anne knew, now that she was face-to-face with Cathy, the promise she’d made Anna and Kitty suddenly felt much harder to keep.</p><p>Better nature, Annie. Deep breaths.</p><p>“Anne Boleyn,” Anne managed to grit out through a smile that made her cheeks hurt. “I’m Kitty’s cousin.” </p><p>A flash of recognition sparked in Cathy’s eyes. Something in her seemed to light up, like flipping a switch, a transformation that made her seem more real, sincere. “I’ve heard of you. Kay talks about you all the time.”</p><p>“All good things, I hope.”</p><p>“The best,” Cathy assured her. “I’m so happy you’ve come — are you thinking about joining the club?”</p><p>Her tone was so mild, so interested. Anne couldn’t help herself: she laughed.</p><p>“Ah, sorry,” Anne wheezed, folding her arms across her chest. “No, I’m not here to join up.” </p><p>“That’s a shame.” The light flickered off. Cathy tilted her head, regarding Anne solemnly. “Kitty said you were quite the writer.” </p><p>“And she’s right. In another life, I could’ve made a killing selling essays to first years,” Anne sighed. Cathy didn’t so much as fake a laugh, not even for politeness’s sake. Tough crowd. “But seriously, I'm not here to join. I’m here for you, actually.” </p><p>That got Anne a response. Cathy raised her scarred brow, a hint of surprise flickering across her features. “Me?” </p><p>“Yep. I’m your partner for Religious Studies.” Cathy stared blankly. Anne fished out her phone and tapped at its cracked screen. “Y’know, for the final project? The group assignment?”</p><p>“Group assignment,” Cathy repeated. She blinked slowly. “The final project is a group assignment?”</p><p>“You didn’t know?” pressed Anne. Cathy shook her head, and Anne’s jaw tensed, hard enough to hurt. She was tired. She was tired and sore and Cathy’s too-cool demeanor was rubbing her wrong. She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice when she asked, “Have you even bothered coming to class?” </p><p>Cathy’s brow furrowed. She pulled out her phone, a glossy piece of hardware with a pretty blue case. She turned it on, and the screen washed her face in cool grey light as she pulled up what Anne recognized as the class syllabus. “I haven’t gone since the first week. This professor doesn’t believe in participation credit, so I’ve just been finishing assignments online...” </p><p>“Well, that explains a lot.” Last week Anne, fed up after three fruitless days of waiting for her partner to reply to her emails, had leaped up onto the professor’s podium and screamed, “Would Catherine Parr please come to the front of the room! We’ve a lost child looking for a Catherine Parr!” to an auditorium of her peers — to no avail, of course.</p><p>(Thinking back on it, that was probably why that withered old fossil they called professor didn’t like her very much. She <em>had</em> apologized for nearly tackling him off the stage, but some people took things so personally.)</p><p>“Group assignment,” Cathy murmured. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked so tired. Anne was still too annoyed to empathize, but she did relate. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea...”</p><p>“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a week,” Anne said. She wiggled her phone, trying not to feel self-conscious as she glanced between Cathy’s sleek device and her own pocket health hazard. She really had to get around to replacing the piece of shit. Maybe when she finally had money, so sometime after law school. “You’re not much for answering messages, huh?” </p><p>“Have you been using the number the professor had us upload to the class website?” Anne nodded. Cathy sighed through her nose. “I’m sorry, I changed my number earlier in the semester and forgot to update it with him…” </p><p>“Ohhh. And then someone hacked your student email and you haven’t seen anything I’ve sent you?”</p><p>“No.” Cathy tapped open her mail app and scrolled. She turned the screen to Anne, who tried not to boggle at the sheer number of unread messages. “Worse. You’re under spam filter.”</p><p>“From my <em>student email?”</em> Anne would have taken that for an excuse if the proof wasn’t literally right in front of her face. That was her email address alright, and all the emails Anne had tried and tried to send. About half of them were professional — those ones, she’d sent earlier. The others were nowhere near as courteous. Anne made a mental note to stop trying to be so witty. Her email subjects were a lot less funny when Cathy was reading them right in front of her. Anne coiled a stray lock of hair around her finger and sighed. “Well, figures. That’s Boleyn luck for you.” </p><p>Cathy glanced over Anne’s shoulder and frowned. “The meeting has to start,” she murmured. She shook her head and jammed a hand into the pocket of her hoodie. “I’m sorry to rush off, but what’s your number? I’ll call you so we can exchange contacts and we can talk more after the meeting ends, but I was supposed to start ten minutes ago...”</p><p>“Oh, right. Here, I won’t keep you — give me your phone, I’ll type it in…” </p><p>They swapped numbers. Cathy hurried up to the podium while Anne shuffled back to her duffel, pretending as though she couldn’t feel the entire room burning holes into her back. </p><p>She threw herself into her seat and planted her foot up on top of the desk, glowering at anyone brave enough to meet her eyes. Most glanced away as soon as she turned her glare on them. Some of the gutsier ones held her gaze, but never for long. Cathy was speaking, and whatever she was talking about must have been important, because most club members were taking avid notes. </p><p>Not Blue Eyes, though. Kitty’s solemn-faced friend stared boldly, hardly blinking even when Anne gave her the patented Boleyn sneer, the one that made drunk frat boys trample their friends underfoot to get out of her way. Blue Eyes didn’t so much as twitch.</p><p>Honestly, it was kind of impressive. Good on Kitty for making interesting friends. Anne would be pleased if she weren’t kind of ticked.</p><p>Her impromptu staring contest consumed so much of her attention that she barely even noticed Kitty bringing her things over to the desk beside Anne’s, not until her cousin’s knife-sharp elbow dug into her ribs, ribs, ow —</p><p>“Kitty!” hissed Anne.</p><p>“Anne!” Kitty hissed back. “Stop glaring at Joan! People are talking!” </p><p>People were not talking. People were watching Anne from the corners of their eyes and pretending to pay attention to Cathy, but Anne knew that to Kitty, those were basically the same thing. </p><p>“Well, get her to stop staring at me!”</p><p>“She’s only staring because you’re staring! So stop, it’s weird!” Kitty seized the top of Anne’s head and pushed, forcing it down. If it were anyone else — literally <em>anyone</em> else, even Anna — Anne would have shoved them away, snarling and swinging like only she knew how. </p><p>But because it was Kitty — Anne’s poor raggedy Kitty — Anne allowed it. She laid there with her head down for who-knows-how-long; long enough for Cathy to finish her presentation, and for Kitty to pull out her laptop and start typing away beside her. </p><p>She was tempted to drift off and let Kitty wake her up when it was time to go. They could grab a quick dinner at the pub outside of campus (college towns, gotta love ‘em) and then Anne would drop Kitty off at her dorm and take the bus back to her apartment, get ready for another early day… </p><p>Metal dragged against the linoleum. Anne raised her head in time to see Cathy pulling a chair up to Kitty’s seat, Kitty scooting over to make room for Cathy to rest her elbows on the desk. “Cathy!”</p><p>“Hey, Kay,” Cathy said. Her voice was warm, and the smile she favored Anne with actually seemed sincere. She tapped the side of her mouth. Anne started, before hurriedly swiping her sleeve against her face. Shit. Maybe she’d dozed off after all. “How’s your prompt coming along?” </p><p>“Good, it’s going good. Well, I mean — I’m on a roll, but I’m not sure I’m happy with what I’ve written so far.” Kitty turned her laptop toward Cathy. “I’ll probably end up deleting most of it—”</p><p>“Don’t,” Cathy said. Her eyes flickered across the screen as she read. “I understand the urge — goodness knows I struggle with it too — but you’re still in the writing stage. Try to push any perfectionist instincts out of your mind. Just keep writing, get all the ideas out, and worry about editing later.”</p><p>Kitty gnawed on her lip. “But… what if I never get to the editing stage?” </p><p>“That’s fine too. A writer isn’t the sum of what they publish, and I mean — just think about it. How much do you write, and how much do you actually end up finishing? It’s the same for just about everyone, even the big names.” Cathy poised her hands over the keyboard. “Do you mind if I—”</p><p>“Oh, please! You’re always welcome to comment.” </p><p>“I always like to check. Some things are… personal.” Cathy began to type. “Writing is a constant process, Kitty. You might have a dream project, but not everything is going to be that, and trying to approach all your pieces as though it’s going to be a masterpiece is only going to stress you out. Your first draft is always going to be rough, and sometimes you might not even be able to finish the draft. That’s perfectly fine. Just remember that any and all work you’ve done is valuable, even if you might not be able to see it that way at the moment.”</p><p>Cathy finished typing and stood. Kitty stared up at her, utterly starstruck. Anne found herself looking too, eyes tracking the way Cathy moved and how animated she seemed, especially compared to how she was when she spoke with Anne. </p><p>“Have some faith in the process,” Cathy murmured. “It’s a marathon, not a race. You’re doing a good job, Kay. I promise.”</p>
<hr/><p>They did not end up going to the pub. As it turned out, the writing club liked to camp out at a nearby diner for dinner and drinks after their meetings, and as it turned out, Kitty much preferred that to splitting a cheese pizza with Anne and shouting to be heard over trivia night. </p><p>“So, what’d you think of Cathy?” Kitty asked, arm hooked in Anne’s as they trotted to the parking garage. Kitty was hitching a ride to the diner with one of her club members. Anne was going to walk Kitty to her friend’s car, then sprint for the bus stop and hope she could get a seat on the next bus out. Cathy had stayed behind to lock up the classroom. Anne’d learned from Kitty that she rarely went with them to the diner; too busy, apparently.</p><p>“She was… interesting.” </p><p>“Aw, c’mon, that doesn’t mean anything at all. What did you <em>really</em> think? I promise I won’t get mad if you tell me the truth.” </p><p>“Hey, why d’ya always assume I’m thinking badly of people? She really is interesting, no lie.” </p><p>“But there’s something else,” Kitty insisted. She was in high spirits, cheeks pink from mirth. The meeting was probably part of it, but she’d always loved spring. For as long as Anne's known her, Kitty loved spring. (Anne, on the other hand, had allergies, and resignedly awaited braving the pharmacy for her yearly antihistamine raid.) “You can tell me, I swear I won’t judge.” </p><p>Anne watched Kitty for a moment, taking her in. There was something else about Cathy that gnawed at Anne’s insides, something that had nothing to do with Religious Studies or group projects.</p><p>How many years had Anne spent trying to keep Kitty under her wing, away from her family, from <em>Anne’s</em> family, from anyone who would hurt her? Anne wasn’t Kitty’s guardian, not by half, but Anne had so much invested in keeping Kitty safe and smiling that sometimes it felt like it.</p><p>Kitty was starting to come into herself at university. Finding role models she admired, who cared for her in turn, friends and connections beside Anne and her ever-growing list of bad habits. Anne had wanted this for Kitty, wanted it as badly as she ever wanted anything.</p><p>She just hadn’t expected Kitty finding it to feel like such a loss. </p><p>“Y’know,” Anne said, pretending to fuss with her duffel bag and breaking out of Kitty’s grasp. “If your Cathy doesn’t make it as — whatever it is she’s trying to do, she’d make a <em>great</em> self-help teacher.” She lifted her hand and tried her best to imitate Cathy’s low tones and precise enunciation. “Believe in the process, young padawan, for only through trial can an aspiring writer become an auteur…”</p><p>Kitty huffed. “Anne!” </p><p>“What? You said you wouldn’t get mad.” </p><p>“I said I wouldn’t be mad if you were honest, not that I wouldn’t be mad if you made fun of her!” Kitty paused. “Besides, auteur’s only for filmmakers. Brilliant writers get called <em>geniuses,</em> Anne.” </p><p>“Sorry Kit-Kat, I wasn’t exactly checking Britannica.” Anne flashed a grin at Kitty. “And I’m not making fun of her, I’m making commentary. If Miss Parr were telling me all those things about my creative process once a week, every week, I’d feel so much better about myself. Ten outta ten, would totes hire.” </p><p>“Aw, Anne,” Kitty giggled. “The last thing you need is a self-help teacher. Anna says if your head got any bigger, you’d fly clear out of the atmosphere on all that hot air.” </p><p>“Wait, she really said that?” Kitty nodded. Anne stopped right where she stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, tell Miss von Kleves that she’s got a lotta nerve, throwing stones around glass houses!”</p><p>Kitty laughed so hard she snorted, then doubled over laughing even harder because of it. Anne grinned into the neck of her sweater. </p><p>Alright. So maybe she wasn’t role-model material. Maybe Anne really was, quite frankly, a bit of a bitch. But as long as she could make Kitty laugh like this, well — Anne had to be doing something right, right?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
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